


Civil War circa 1862

by DaneofSpades



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: American Civil War, Civil War (Marvel), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaneofSpades/pseuds/DaneofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Civil War with a twist! After the events of Age of Ultron, Tony and Steve are separated and left to deal with the awkward kinship they had entered into during the time spent on Clint's farmstead. Before they can sort out their personal relationship the Time Stone sends them and the rest of the Avengers into the 1860's. With Civil War raging all around them, Tony and Steve must fight to solve more than just their own problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil War circa 1862

The crunch of gravel grating on his tires followed Tony Stark all the way back to the tower. He peered up at the embossed “A” decorating the pinnacle of the architecture and scoffed. The Avengers were finished.

All that remained of the original six were Cap and Black Widow, and although he was in part to blame for the change it still left his stomach permanently unsettled for the next couple of days.

Thor had left for Asgard all but unannounced, Banner had disappeared out of some misplaced guilt, and Barton gallivanted off to take care of his disgustingly ordinary family. Tony had pardoned himself out of the team as well, obviously, but in his case it was more of a “get out or get kicked off” situation. Cap had said that he would miss him, but Tony suspected the sentiment was of a more personal nature than a professional one. When the team captain was still pissed at you for building a robot that had a particular knack for megalomaniacal meteors, you usually weren’t allowed to shoot any free throws.

That being said, Steve’s words were still pounding around in his brain, knocking off all sorts of other thoughts from their cluttered shelves. Captain America was going to miss him. It would be best for Tony to not read into that. The week they had spent on hiatus at Clint’s glorified cabin had brought them frighteningly close together, close enough for Tony to begin evaluating his self-worth in all manner of deprecating scenarios.

Tony’s eyes had started to slip from the road the second he opened up the mental files containing thoughts of their transitory vacation, and he had to wrench them back lest he veer off the pavement. It was all for the best he kept such classified feelings hidden away, behind codes and cyphers even he couldn’t hack into.

He barely noticed when he pulled into the tower’s garage, and had been sitting at the wheel of the car – still growling its fumes into the vacant space – for a full minute before realizing he had arrived. Tony thumped his head against the steering wheel after removing the key, partly out of anger and mostly out of frustration. His jumbled thoughts became even more scattered as a result and he groaned out loud.

“Jarvis,” Tony said instinctively, before pausing.

“Friday,” he continued fluidly, shoving that particular mess of emotional paperwork underneath the growing mountain. “Call Pepper and tell her that we’re leaving for Malibu. As soon as she possibly can.”

“Of course, sir.”

Maybe Tony could program her into having a British accent also. “Sir” sounded much less flattering in the corn-fed dialect of American English.  

“Miss Potts regrets to inform you that she will not be arriving back from Beijing until tomorrow morning,” Friday said as Tony entered the basement elevator.

“Great.” He had forgotten she was even in Beijing. Tony sighed and pushed the button for the penthouse.

“Will that be all?” she inquired. Damn if she didn’t have that preadolescent need for affection.

“Might as well light up the workshop while you’re at it,” Tony said, changing his mind and cancelling the order to ascend to the penthouse. “There’s always more work to be done.”

“Miss Potts on the line for you, sir.”

Tony was waist deep in circuitry when Pepper called. He had been scrapping the last of Jarvis’ hardware from the tower’s interfacing module – now worthless after he had been plugged into The Vision – and replacing it with Friday. He had caved and made her British, and Tony much preferred the eminent lilt to her voice as it reverberated around the wide space.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“Huhmph?” Tony spat out the screwdriver he was safekeeping in his mouth. “What else would I be doing?”

“Inexorable.” There was only a trace of the usual amusement that Pepper’s voice often contained.

“What’s up?” Tony asked, at a loss of what to say.

“I finally sat down for the first time in fourteen hours and had a hunch you might still be up.”

“What time is it?” Tony was back to rifling around in his stash of motherboards.

“3:00pm.”

“Right smack in the afternoon then. I don’t see the problem.”

“That’s Beijing time, Tony. Do the math.”

“Right smack in the morning then. I don’t see the problem.”

“Tony, what are you doing?” she asked again.

“Rethinking Friday’s voice change? Turns out she’s a lot less sexy posing as the Duchess of Cornwall. Almost has that old maid thing going.” Not that Tony would admit to finding the ‘old maid thing’ comforting.

“That’s not what I meant.” Peppers voice was harsh enough to stop Tony’s hands. “What are you doing calling me and demanding we rush off to Malibu? We broke up three months ago. Eloping is no longer something you can ask of me.”

“I wouldn’t call it eloping, per say,” resuming his rummaging. “More building a quaint farm together and living happily ever after. But without the pumpkins growing to load-bearing weight and being carted around by gigantic hooved mice.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Pepper said, but he could tell a bit more of the old fondness had crept back into her voice. Tony knew instinctively she had had a long day – longer than usual, which considering the twelve hour jet lag associated with a trip to China was saying something. He didn’t realize the extra stress he must be causing until after he had called, but it was more difficult to cover up conversational tension with Pepper than almost everyone else.

“I’ll shut up when I’m dead,” Tony said automatically, and froze. It was a good thing Pepper wasn’t face-timing him. The look on her face would’ve merited some serious reparations. As it stood the line was only met with silence, and silence he could work with.

“Clint has a wife now,” Tony continued. “Nice little farm out in the countryside. Tractors to fix, kids to ignore, cattle to milk. At least I’m assuming that’s what you do to cows. Not entirely sure what to tug on, if you know what I mean.”

“Tony,” Pepper interrupted, before he could get into his stride. Damn her practiced timing. “We’re not eloping. Not even to a farm. Not even to a secret agent farm that no one knows about. Not even to a secret agent farm that no one knows about that also has a bunch of broken tractors. That kind of meeting no longer has any place in my schedule, Tony, and I suggest you find a way to keep it out of yours.”

“There’s always a tube of white-out sitting on my desk.”

“And a sharpie on mine.” Pepper sighed, and Tony could hear the weariness break through her stolid composure in that single exhale.

“Look, Tony, we both know why this happened.”

“You know why this happened.”

“Is this the point of the conversation where you degenerate into a twelve year old child?”

Tony quirked his lips up and pouted. “You’re a child.”

“May I correct my earlier statement?” Pepper asked. She didn’t let him answer. “A twelve year old _girl_.”

“Ouch, Pep. Have you been taking tips from Rhodey on name calling? Because we’d have to sit here a couple more hours for you to catch up to the amount of times that man has likened me to a preteen girl.”

"Stop deflecting,” Pepper said, cutting into a harsher tone.

“Pot, child-sized kettle. More like Potts, actually, but if that’s the case I’m not exactly black in this scenario.”

“I swear half the time even you can’t make sense of what’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Neither does Drake but people still listen to him. We started from the bottom now we’re here, you know?”

“Definitely not black, Tony. And I don’t think that the Stark fortune qualifies as ‘the bottom.’”

“What about the emotional compromise of my nubile mind?”

Pepper went quiet at that one. During the silence Tony cut his hand on a jagged rim while sorting out his pile of circuitry. He cursed, sucking on his freshly bleeding thumb. He wasn’t exactly dissuading his petulant persona, at least not in Pepper’s eyes.

“What is this really about, Tony? We both know you’re not just calling to whine about our breakup. We’ve had far too many conversations to rehash that fiasco, and if you don’t get to the point in about three seconds I’m going to hang up.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, without any of his earlier inflection.

“I know. Now what did you call about.”

“It doesn't feel right. The team,” he clarified.

“Of course it doesn't,” Pepper said flippantly. “Everyone left.”

“Not quite everyone.”

“You know what I mean.”

“See Pep? Look how good we are together!” Tony had now rolled up his sleeves and was busy soldering the Mark XLV’s elbow joints into a more acceptable configuration. “I know what you mean without you even having to say it. The few, the proud, they say.”

“As much as you have hardened me for war, Tony, I am not a marine. And I seem to recall a certain war veteran promising to destroy each and every machine of war he created. Yet what is he working on?”

Tony couldn't come up with a snappy response to that particular blow, knee deep in the machinery of their argument, so he let the silence fight the battle for him. He won, as always, but the conversation took a few bullets as a result. Pepper’s voice in particular was firing rounds left and right.

“I’m done with you and done with this argument Tony, and as ‘just friends’ you are no longer allowed to keep doing this to me. So you better cut the shit and talk business, because that’s the only thing that works anymore.”

“Cap’s having a hard time with it too,” Tony said, accepting the terms before Pepper ran off with her verbal scissors. His voice shook a bit as he talked but his work kept him distracted enough to seal up the cracks forming in his words.

“I can tell. He may not say it but it bothers him, having the team be split up like this. There’s something out there, Pepper, something that could end our tiny blue sphere without a second thought. Ultron was just a shiny bug in comparison. A shiny bug that was supposed to help keep this planet safe.” He spat in resentment, the saliva sizzling off into the air upon contacting the soldering iron.

“I know,” Pepper said, but it was a crisp acknowledgement. Professional. “You’re nothing if not stubborn, Tony. You tried, and in your defense even the worst of your attempts are usually successful.”

“Statistical anomaly,” Tony muttered. He would’ve bet that Pepper forced herself not to chuckle at that one.

“That’s one way to put it,” she said. “Nat called me the other day. She seems to feel about the same as you, funny enough.”

“Really? How did you pull that one off? I honestly don’t even know her phone number.”

“I’m nice,” she said simply.

“I’m nice,” Tony grumbled, and dragged a gauntlet over to the workbench. He needed a better angle to reach the more intricate wrist clasps.

“Alan Turing thought he was nice, too. It was a wonder how he managed to alienate nearly all of his coworkers in the first day.”

“Number one, I’m honored that you just compared me to Alan Turing.” Tony patted the top of the nearest computer fondly. “Number two, I don’t think you finished that movie, because they were all smitten with him by the end.”

“The Imitation Game made it pretty clear they only stuck around him because he was a genius, and knew he could solve the puzzle,” Pepper remarked.

“Except for Joan Clarke.”

“True, but Joan was never turned into a human bomb.”

“Fair point,” Tony said, raising his eyebrows just slightly.

“That’s two strikes, Tony. No more metaphors to our relationship.”

“What happens on strike three?”

“I get Rhodes.”

Tony gasped, clutching the smoking gauntlet to his chest in mock affront. “He would never.”

“He would always, Tony,” Pepper said, laughing. Mission accomplished, Tony pumped his fist into the air a couple times, the other hand still clutching the blackening gauntlet.

“He has bigger fish to fry, Pep. Actual fish, I might add. Pretty sure Cap has them fighting whales or something. He never did get over those flying monsters Loki summoned up. Probably got some ‘Jonah and the Whale’ complex out of the whole thing. I blame the buried at sea shtick he always falls back on whenever I ask him to come hot-tubbing.”

“You’re telling me that Captain America uses the excuse that he crashed into the ocean just to avoid seeing you in swim trunks? Wait, actually, no. That makes perfect sense.”

They were both laughing now, and although Tony still wasn’t happy about their breakup, he was glad that he wasn’t making her busy day any worse. He had at least turned around her mood, and by the time the call ended Tony felt a bit better about himself. That wasn’t saying much, considering his self-esteem likely clocked in at around two percent at the moment, but it was something. He could never get rid of Pepper completely, and they both knew it. Tony just had to deal with the fact that she had almost gotten rid of him.

“Sir?” Friday chimed in some hours later, breaking Tony’s concentration. He was nearly finished with the repulsor augmentation he had been tinkering with. He couldn’t quite figure out the specifics to how Ultron had gotten hold of telekinetic technology, but damn was he close. A few more hours and he might have a working prototype.

"Sir, Miss Potts asked me to alert you when the sun rose.”

“Not that early,” Tony groused, poking at one of the gauntlet’s thumbs.

“Be that as it may, you also have not eaten since returning to the Tower.”  

“I’ve gone longer.”

“I might also mention that Dr. Banner has taken up lodgings in the penthouse.” Tony would’ve done a spit take if he had drank anything in the past twelve hours.

“What?”

“I repeat, Dr. Banner has taken up –”

“I know what you said, dumbass, what the hell is he doing here?” He would have to program a bit more sense into Friday before the day was over.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, you little shit,” Friday said. That was not what Tony had expected. Clearly he had coded far too much attitude into his new A.I. Probably a side effect of personalizing her into a teenage girl.

“Don’t make me ground you,” Tony said. Nonetheless, he cleaned off his hands with a discarded rag and proceeded up the stairs, jogging slightly in his haste.

Upon exiting the elevator to the penthouse, he found Bruce laying out a sleeping bag on his living room carpet. He had to hand it to Friday, Tony never would have guessed she was being literal about Bruce sleeping in his apartment.

“And here I thought you were running _away_ from the Avengers,” Tony said as the elevator doors opened. Bruce grimaced and glanced up at him.

“And here I thought you didn’t qualify _as_ the Avengers.”

“Good shot,” Tony said, and plopped down on the couch. “You’re being ridiculous by the way. I honestly no longer remember the amount of beds in this tower, but I am certain they would be more comfortable than that bag. Hell, even the carpet would be easier to sleep on.”

“That’s it?” Bruce asked, pushing his glasses up to his nose and looking at Tony skeptically. “No questions asked?”

“I don’t need a reason to let you stay, Bruce. I didn’t replace the ‘Stark’ that used to be on the face of this thing just to quell my ego. Although it was much easier just to leave the ‘A’ on after Loki knocked the rest of my name to the pavement.”

“Avengers tower. What are we doing here?” Bruce asked. “I don’t even have my communicator anymore.” He laughed and stopped his unpacking, choosing instead to crash onto the sofa next to Tony.

“Side effect of my owning the Avengers. Don’t tell Fury.”

“I’m sure he already knows how you feel. I wouldn’t bring up the new facility though. There’s a certain phallic emphasis to this building that he wouldn’t be able to compete with.”

Tony laughed with Bruce this time before standing up and striding over to the bar. He poured a glass and downed it before asking the question hanging over their heads.

“Nat?”

Bruce was quiet for a moment before standing up himself. He joined Tony at the bar and took the bottle of whiskey from his hands. Bruce downed about half of it before Tony realized he should take it back.

“That bad, huh?” Tony asked, holding his friend at bay while storing the whiskey away from Bruce’s prying fingers.

“What other choice did I have?”

“Honesty?”

“Says you.”

“Good point. Man, I’m going to need a new set of skin myself after all these burns.” Bruce peered at him quizzically, eyes somewhat glazed over, before successfully navigating through the satirical jargon Tony had laid out in front of him.

“Who else was making fun of you? Cap?” Tony was honestly not expecting Steve’s name to be the first to pop up. Usually Pepper took precedent for Tony’s witty tirades.

“Erm, no. Haven’t talked to him since I got back here. What gave you that idea? Not important,” Tony said hastily when he saw Bruce’s mouth open. “Pepper and I had another spat.”

“You really should stop calling her.”

“Excuse you,” Tony said, holding up a finger as the two made their way into the kitchen. The growl of Bruce’s stomach was audible. “She called me.”

“It doesn’t count after you leave her an inbox full of voicemails,” Bruce said. He gratefully accepted the loaf of bread Tony handed him from off the counter and twirled around, looking for something to put on it.

"Thanks,” Bruce mouthed around a butter knife. Tony had pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the cabinets and was now leaning against a bar stool. “You guys really aren’t getting back together, huh?”

“Doesn’t look that way,” Tony said, sighing and eyeing the ceiling fan. It was tilted slightly as it revolved, the glass shuddering every fifth pass. He doubted there was a screwdriver in any of the drawers.

“Tony?”

“Huh?” Tony said, breaking out of his reverie. He was plotting how best to convert the can opener into a working Phillips.

“You were muttering…”

“It happens,” Tony said, and shrugged. He didn’t at all like the concern evident on Bruce’s face and decided to steer the conversation towards Banner’s own problems.

“She’s going to find out, Bruce.”

“Not likely,” he said, apparently deciding to law off his own interrogation. “Avengers tower is the last place she’d expect to find me. Natasha’s clever, I won’t ever say otherwise, but she usually thinks with her heart before her brain. She would never admit to it, though.”

“And in this case her brain doesn’t point to the gracious hospitality of her favorite scientist?”

“Sorry Tony, but I don’t think you’re Tasha’s favorite scientist.”

“Now I might be.” It was clearly the wrong thing to say because Bruce started getting shifty with his hands, and started contemplating each of the exits in turn.

“You’re right about one thing,” Tony started, going for a more friendly and confident vibe rather than accidentally goading. “If you don’t want to be found, I’m sure Friday and I can whip something up to keep just about anything off the radar. Even giant green rage monsters.”

Bruce slumped over his half-finished sandwich, head in his hands. It was perhaps the most defeated Tony had ever seen him, even counting the time the Hulk had basically leveled Pretoria. Bruce was significantly less sweaty this time around, however, not to mention clothed, so Tony decided he could get a handle on the situation.

“I doubt she’s even looking, Tony.” He reconsidered his tactics after that bulldozer of a comment, and eventually settled his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, gripping him fiercely.

“Nat isn’t someone to give up that easily.”

Consolatory has likely never been used as an adjective to describe Tony by anyone that knew him very well, but he did his best to get Bruce into a bed and off to sleep. After their talk in the kitchen Bruce had dissolved into a weepy, highly unmanly version of Dr. Banner, let alone the Hulk, and Tony thought it best to cart his friend off to dreamland before he could make any more insensitive comments. He put the finishing touches on his bedtime story – almost entirely consisting of three doses of Ambien and a gingerly laid blanket – and clomped back into the kitchen, now sufficiently tired enough to consider going to bed himself.

The fan was still whirling around, almost drunk itself in its disrepair, and Tony rolled his eyes. There may have been a time where he would’ve ignored the broken machine and instead joined Pepper in bed, but one significant member of that course of action was explicably absent.       

Morning found Tony hunched over the table, a dismembered can opener resting loosely in the grasp of his fingers. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pretoria is a city I researched to replace the one the Hulk partially destroyed in Age of Ultron. I couldn't find the name they used in the movie so I'm just using this one.


End file.
